


Different Spices

by fengirl88



Series: Bad Language [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Romance, Seasonal activities, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Who the hell would want to buy the London Eye in gingerbread?” Lestrade asks, boggling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Spices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).



> Written for Small_Hobbit who requested John and Lestrade enjoying a day out.
> 
> This is set nearly two years after A Burst Pipe Problem, and makes more sense if you've read that and Barack.

“Who the hell would want to buy the London Eye in gingerbread?” Lestrade asks, boggling.

“I don't know – maybe German tourists might like it?” John says doubtfully.

“It just seems _wrong_ ,” Lestrade grumbles.

“Oh, you want the witch's house from Hansel and Gretel instead?” John teases, pretending to get out his wallet.

“ _No_ ,” Lestrade says firmly, pulling him into a hug.

“OK,” John says, kissing the side of his neck. “As long as you're sure.”

The South Bank Christmas Market's a funny old mixture, Lestrade thinks: wooden chalets selling everything from German sausages and Hungarian painted plates and embroidered pincushions to fake snow, pashminas, ostrich burgers, fairy lights, lingerie, bath bombs, fudge and cuckoo-clocks. Still, there's always the mulled wine...

“That's better,” John says, as they stroll along by the river in the cold afternoon air, enjoying the hot sweet spicy drink.

“Not as good as the batch we made,” Lestrade says, though he's drinking it just the same. 

He might be a bit biased, of course. That was the start of it all, mulled wine at 221b two Christmases ago when he'd stayed with John because the pipes in his own flat had burst and John hadn't been invited to Christmas with the Holmeses.

“No, obviously,” John says. “They can't have used the poker.”

Lestrade snorts. “Different spices, too,” he says. “Sweeter. Makes me think of Narnia.”

“She didn't look like the White Witch, though,” John said. “More like a German Mrs Hudson.”

Getting fanciful in his old age, Lestrade thinks. He says it out loud, because winding up Watson has not lost its charms.

“Old age yourself,” John says, unruffled. “Going to do something special for your 50th, are you?”

Lestrade winces. That's _months_ away, and he hadn't been going to think about it till it happened. If then.

He hopes Sherlock doesn't decide to break the habit of a lifetime and mark the occasion in some as yet unspecified but probably traumatic way. Usually you can rely on him to ignore birthdays, but the big Five Oh might be too tempting to pass up...

“How about a trip to Budapest?” John suggests. “You could show me your old haunts.”

Oh. That would be nice. They'd talked about it a couple of times since that memorable scuffle over Lestrade's use of Hungarian sexual slang in dirty-word Scrabble, but they'd never got round to actually making plans.

“Apparently there's no substitute for practising your vocabulary in the country itself,” John adds, deadpan, slipping his hand under Lestrade's coat and giving him a crafty squeeze.

“I've heard that too,” Lestrade says. “Total immersion.”

He thinks about John naked in the Király Baths. It's a pretty thought. _Mmm_.

“Come on, then, you,” he says, hugging John close again. “I'm thinking go home, put the oven on for the roast, then have a nice lie down in front of the fire while dinner's cooking.”

“Mm,” John says, leaning against his shoulder. “Sounds good. I think bits of me may be about to fall off if we stay here much longer.”

“Can't have that,” Lestrade says. “You might need them for later.”

 

***

 

“Do you ever think about him?” John asks as they lie cuddling on the hearthrug, enjoying the nearly-there cooking smells wafting through the house.

There's a note of jealousy in his voice that Lestrade hasn't heard for months now. The last time was when John found out about him and Sherlock, and it had seemed touch and go for a while whether they'd get through that. Not surprising that John had taken it badly, even though all that was over long ago. But they _had_ got through it, and most of the time things are fine between them.

“Who?” Lestrade asks, because he's really not sure who John means.

“László the librarian,” John says.

“No,” Lestrade says, and it's true. He hopes László's OK, obviously, but it's only when something like this happens that he thinks about him at all.

“You know I don't think about anyone but you,” he says. “Not like that. _Szeretlek_.”

He kisses John, a fierce deep kiss, and John kisses him back, and they nearly manage to burn the dinner, but not quite.

 

“I'll need a complete refresher course before we go,” John says, when they've had dinner and washed up. “Start with the basics and work up to proficiency.”

He kisses Lestrade lingeringly behind the ear and grips his cock through his trousers, sliding his hand up and down until Lestrade feels dizzy.

“Nnghh,” Lestrade says. “Mmff.”

“You never told me those,” John says, grinning. “What do they mean?”

One of those times when it's better to show than tell, Lestrade reckons.

“Come to bed,” he says. “I'll give you a demonstration.”

**Author's Note:**

> Szeretlek = Hungarian for "I love you."


End file.
